


Save The Date

by Marsllia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 06:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19847596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsllia/pseuds/Marsllia
Summary: Radio silence from Natasha post mission sends you into a spin.





	Save The Date

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lil one shot idea that came to me in the middle of the night. I bossed this out in a couple of hours, so I apologise in advance for any spelling/ grammar errors! First time writing for Natasha or anything marvel, so I hope you enjoy this bc I had fun writing :) x

You watched idly at the pedestrians bellow you through the rain speckled windowpanes of your 8th floor apartment. A sea of umbrellas and newspapers held above heads moved in what looked like perfect formation, and you’d become oddly hypnotised as you rested your forehead against the cold glass. A sudden screech to the left of you made you whip your head to the side so fast you near tore a tendon, making you gasp and grimace. You rise from where you were perched on the windowsill and made your way towards to stove where the boiling kettle was relentlessly screaming its readiness at you. Your apartment was small and rather stuffy. Your bedroom was just about able to fit a double bed and a dresser, your bathroom was more of a glorified wet room, and the kitchen/ living room left absolutely nothing to the imagination, but it was home. Your home. One that you’d created all by yourself. When your grandmother passed, there was nothing to keep you in the suburban town you were raised in, so you packed all your belongings into a suitcase and a singular cardboard box and moved to the city. You soon learnt that Manhattan was relentless and unkind to the lonely, too fast and too busy to let you sink your claws in and steady yourself. Still, a year and half later you were here, still breathing and with a job, a home, and a person to wait up for at 2am on a rainy Sunday morning. 

2am. You rubbed your eyes and checked again. Still 2am. You inhaled deeply in an attempt to regulate your breathing. She was meant to be home 5 hours ago. You placed the kettle back on the stove and made your way to the back of your apartment and into your bedroom. You reached down the side of your bed and pull on the charging lead that your phones currently attached to. No missed calls, and no text messages. You’d be lying if you were to say that your girlfriends punctuality didn’t fluctuate depending on her mood, but she always made the effort to come home when she said she would after a mission, always finding a way to let you know if plans change, either be it through a text, a call, her best friend Clint, a low level desk agent....hell, one time she even sent a pizza delivery guy with a message. Something wasn’t right. 

You were pretty sure you’d burnt a hole through the tasselled rug in your living room, constantly pacing, muttering to yourself about how she’s okay, how she’s a big girl, so strong and tough and pretty and badass - a threat to all. You looked at your watch again through blurry eyes and just about made out 3:30. You felt your shoulders dip as you whimpered, you rubbed your eyes, not worrying about massacre smudges, knowing that it was already ruined from your small teary breakdown at roughly 2:45. You collapsed in exhaustion on the sofa, closing your eyes briefly, promising yourself only 5 minutes before you’d get back up again and brew yourself another coffee. Your body had other plans as it forced you into a blackout level slumber, a type of stress induced coma. 

-

Natasha yawned as she removed her motorcycle helmet, stretching her back as she did so. She winced at the sharp pain coming from underneath a bandage on her left shoulder which was covering a graze about 4 centimetres in length, caused by a stray bullet. Skin deep only, as it simply skimmed her as she ducked for cover, but still, it was likely to leave a pearly white scar once healed. Annoyed at her reaction to the niggling pain she swung her leg over the bike and made her way to the front door of your apartment complex. She looked at her watch and smirked, 9 am. You should be awake by now, if not up already. She swiftly changes the direction she’s walking in and made her way to the small coffee shop a block from your apartment. She approaches the counter and orders a cappuccino for you, and a large black coffee for herself to go. As she’s waiting for the drinks to be made, her mind wanders to the domesticity of her actions, thinking back on how she’d once rejected the idea of even being close enough to know a persons regular coffee order. Before you, stable relationships were a myth in her world, futile under her lifestyle. Sure she’d date, see someone for a while, get to know the surface layers of their personality, but it would end. Quickly, cleanly and without emotion. 

“Large cappuccino and a black coffee for Natalie” called out the barista, who flashed their teeth at Natasha as she approached the counter. She thanked them and made her way out the shop, her strides becoming longer and faster as she came closer to your building. Her missions were frequent. She was a woman in demand, so you were both used to the sporadic routine and the nights sleeping alone, but 4 weeks was a long time. Longer than the usual, and a mixture of anticipation and excitement bubbled in Natasha’s gut, threatening to pierce her composure. As she she ascended the final steps to your floor, she couldn’t help but smile, imagining your messy bed hair and pouty lips you always wore at this time on a Sunday morning. She flipped the mat outside your front door with her foot and bent down to pick up the key, not wanting to ruin the surprise of her arrival by knocking. She slowly opened to door and stepped in, frowning when no visible signs of your presence appeared. She closed the door, and called out your name. No response, no sound of movement. She guessed you must’ve started your day earlier than usual, perhaps going for a run or for a walk in the neighbourhood like the two of you would do together sometimes. She makes her way to your kitchen counter and places down to two coffee cups, she removes her leather jacket and absentmindedly throws it on to your sofa without looking, and to her surprise, it groans. 

“Y/n?”  
You sleepily sit yourself up and pull the mysterious cloak covering your head off of yourself, the brightness of the room making you squint. “Baby, why are you on the sofa?” Natasha questioned. Your eyes snapped wide as you scrambled to your feet, she’s leaning against your kitchen counter on her forearms, brows furrowed in confusion. You whimper her name and hurdle over your couch, rushing to touch and pull at her and check she’s real and not some hyper-realistic figure of imagination. You collapse into her chest and bury your face in the space between her jaw and collarbone, inhaling deeply. Her scent attacked your senses and you couldn’t stop the sob of relief that escaped from your lips. She wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pulled you closer, shushing and cooing into your ear to calm you down. Your cries began to subside and she let out a breathy laugh as she turned to kiss your temple, “well, I thought you’d be surprised but I gotta say, this reaction is a new one”. To that, you tensed, pulling back from her embrace to look at her. “Surprised? What do you mean surprised?”. She smiled in a questioning manner and tilted her head, “At me coming home? I wanted to surprise you since it was such a long trip and -“, you cut her off by raising your hand, you stepped out of her grip completely, needing to distance yourself in order to control the rising white heated rage you felt crawling up your spine. “You mean to tell me you did this...intentionally?” She nods and grabs at your shirt to pull you back, you swat her hand and she retracts, visibly annoyed. “Y/n, what’s wrong with you? I wanted this to be a nice surprise, why are you acting like this?”. By this point you were visibly trembling, eyes blown wide like a mad woman, not quite wanting to believe that she would be so daft. You clapped your hands together a few times and laughed, running your hands through your hair to ground yourself. “Natasha, are you fucking for real? Are you being serious? Tell me your not being serious?”, she gawked at you, jaw bopping up and down a few times but no words left her lips. You felt like you were going to explode. “How could you be so insensitive? What is wrong with you? Why would you think I would want to be surprised like this? I - I’ve felt sick all night, not know where you were, having images of your body injured, or worse nat. Why would you purposefully make me wait, why would you make yourself late to ‘surprise me’, why would y-“. She waved her hands in front of herself, stopping your ranting, her face now stone. “What did you just say?” She look pointedly at you, one eye brow raised. “Well, why did you think it would be a good idea to make me wait”, you explained flatly. “Make you wait? Make you wai- Y/N, I’m early”, she deadpans. You stare at her squinting your eyes, searching her face for a tell in her expression. When you conclude her seriousness is truthful, you clear your throat. “You are not early nat, you are late. Very VERY late, you were meant to be back at 9 o’clock last night, that’s 12 hours ago, just to clarify, since you suddenly can’t seem to tell time.” She shakes her head and sighs out her nose, “no y/n, I’m meant to be home at 9 o’clock TONIGHT, Sunday the 14th.”, “the 14th was YESTERDAY, it’s the 15th today.”, “No the 14th is TODAY”. She shakes her head again and purses her lips into a thin line, you falter your boring stare at her to glance at your phone in your hand. You click the screen, and it reads in clear letters, “SUNDAY 14 JULY”. 

Not wanting to look up you scuffle your feet together, readjusting your pose from battle stance to something much more submissive. Are you actually dim? You question to yourself. “Y/n” she calls but you stay looking at your feet, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Y/n, look at me”, reluctantly you raise your head, she standing leant on one hip, arms crossed with a disgustingly smug look on her face. “Okay...” you begin, “so, I may have made... a small miscalculation”, she says nothing, but uncrosses her arms and holds them open, inviting you back in to her embrace. 

You move to her and she pulls you close, sighing as you melded your body around her. You lifted your head and pecked at her cheek a few times, “sorry” you whispered into her skin, “you’re a pain” she quipped, turning to look into your eyes. She leans forwards and presses her lips to yours, your eyes flutter at the contact as a Moan escapes your lips. You feel her tongue swipe your bottom lip, and you open your mouth depending the kiss. Your mind becomes clouded as your mouth moves against hers, her hands are roaming your body and soon all you can feel is her. You begrudgingly pull away from her lips for air, and she moves to pepper kisses along the sweet spots of your neck. “You know, I’ve got an idea of how you can make it up to me for your little outburst back there” She rasps against you, and you hum at the vibrations of her husky voice against your neck. “Yeah? And what’s that?”, she lifts her head and pecks your lips, you feel her smile into the kiss. “Bedroom. Now”, she slaps your backside making you squirm, before you can respond her hand is wrapped around your wrist leading you to the back of your apartment. 

-

You trace shapes on the exposed skin of her back as she sleeps, dodging the section of her shoulder that’s bandaged. Her face turned away from you, and Your mind wonders back to earlier in the day. You cant stop yourself from smiling. Natasha Romanoff; world class spy, a deadly assassin who’s name strikes fear into the most ruthless villains of the underworld, sneaking about lower Manhattan at 9 am, grabbing cappuccinos from hipster coffee shops to surprise her dumbo girlfriend who looses tack of what day it is. She stirs and you stop your tracing as she turns in her sleep to face you. She reaches out and finds your body, wrapping an arm around your waist and roughly pulling you towards her, slumber preventing her ability to distribute force accordingly. Your heart bursts at the action, snuggling yourself deeper into her grip. You’ve missed her in your bed, her steady breathing calming you, eventually lulling you into your own dreamless sleep, mind finally content and at peace. 

XX


End file.
